There are times when many of us want to get away from overweening, domineering and intrusive nation-states. But where could we go? My thoughts have recently started to turn towards Belgium and to its great gift to the world.

Before I get to Belgium, which is not a thing I usually like to do, what other possibilities could there be? There is always the dream of a sustainable, organic small-holding in some God-forsaken Welsh valley – a place where I could wear sandals, knit my own yogurt or even open yet another home-made candle shop. Yet that’s still not remote enough to avoid the reach of petty-fogging British bureaucrats and, what’s more, it never stops raining in Wales.

A beach in Thailand or in the Indian province of Kerala perhaps? Hanging out with some old, failed, rock musicians, or more successful Cockney criminals, I could watch the daily arrival of hoards of privileged Western youth trying to be hippies but really just living off daddy’s money. Better not.

So what about an enclave, a place lost in a type of no-man’s land that through some quirk of history has evaded the grasping attentions of power-hungry states? For the sake of the more linguistically challenged, an enclave is ‘an enclosed territory that is culturally distinct from the foreign territory that surrounds it’. Even today there are dozens of such enclaves around.

The Vatican City isn’t at all the type of enclave I’m looking for; after all it’s a state in its own right with its own pretty-boy Swiss army. With my political and religious views it’s also highly unlikely that the Pope would ever ask me over for a couple of beers and to listen to his extensive collection of 1970s British blues-rock. Though that’s a shame as I’m led to understand that Pope Benedict does a passable karaoke version of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water – John the Baptist’s water no doubt.

Well then there’s always Llivia, a miniscule parcel of Spanish territory in the Pyrenees, completely surrounded by France. Llivia was created because the French and Spanish couldn’t agree on its status when they negotiated their frontiers in 1659 – in the Treaty of the Pyrenees. But I’ve also rejected Llivia. It is indeed a true enclave but it’s still part of Spain and the Spanish are surely the noisiest people on the planet, as anyone who has had to sit next to a Spanish family on a beach or in a plane can testify.

After considering several other options I found myself, rather unexpectedly, in Belgium. There are three possibilities here. The first, and the one I think I would find most congenial, unfortunately no longer exists.  Yet I can still dream.

Neutral Moresnet

Once Napoleon had been defeated, at the Congress of Vienna in 1815 the victorious powers established a united Netherlands. They couldn’t, however, agree on who should get a tiny 350 hectare sliver of territory lying south west of Aachen. The main issue was that this land, centred on Kelmis (La Calamine), was the site of one of Europe’s richest zinc deposits. So it was designated neutral  - ‘Neutral  Moresnet’ – a true enclave lying between Germany and Holland. The other bits of Moresnet were divided between Prussia and Holland.

But following the Belgian Revolution, the artificial state of Belgium came into existence. A creation ratified by the London Conference of 1830. I like to imagine the scene in London during the negotiations between Prussia, Holland and the ‘Belgians’, all overseen by the victorious British.

First there were the Prussians, no doubt making it clear in their usual gentle and understated way, and with good reason, that it was their Marshal Blücher and his army of Germans who had saved the Duke of Wellington’s bacon at the Battle of Waterloo, enabling Napoleon to be defeated. The Dutch delegation – somewhat peeved that a large chunk of their country was being removed and given over to the tender mercies of the French-speaking Walloon aristocracy, and remembering the days when they had fought so valiantly for their liberty and had become a great maritime and colonial power – well maybe they snuck off at the end of a hard day’s talking and drowned their sorrows with a few good Dutch beers (remember the superior ‘Belgian’ beer didn’t yet exist).  And then there were the French-speaking Walloons. Even though France’s one and only big attempt at European domination had failed, I like to imagine them, like all French at all times, colourfully dressed like pompous peacocks. I’m also sure they also did an admirable imitation, avant la lettre, of Dr. Strangelove’s instinctive Nazi salute and ‘Sieg Heil’. At every opportunity they would have mentioned ‘L’honneur de la France’ – not yet knowing that they were becoming Belgian now and hence in for two hundred years of French ridicule and condescension. In their pride these Frenchmen probably felt that discussing the future of a few rustic Frankish oiks was below them; and in their national collective historical amnesia I guess they didn’t even remember that it was precisely from these German/Ripuarian Frankish areas that the ‘Franks’, who created and gave their name to France, originated. Did they even know, and do the French today know, that Charlemagne himself was a German-speaking German?

And the British, the hosts of the London Conference, what did they make of all this? As always they would likely have been slightly bemused by all the strutting and fretting of ‘Johnny Foreigner’, who didn’t even have the courtesy to speak English properly. They did, however, have the satisfaction of putting one of their own German Royal family on the Belgian throne, King Leopold of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, (the uncle of Queen Victoria of England), who was to go on to have such great fun in the Congo.

I’m sure this is all a travesty of history. Or is it?

In any case, the London conference decided to keep ‘Neutral Moresnet’ and it became an enclave in Wallonian Belgium, even though its people spoke German, or more correctly Ripuarian Frankish. Neutral Moresnet’s northern tip met the conjunction of Germany, Holland and Belgium at a veritable four-country point at what is now called the ‘Trois Bornes’ in Vaals (Neutral Moresnet having since disappeared), which lies at the staggering height of 323 metres above sea-level in the endearingly named ‘Dutch Alps’.

Neutral Moresnet existed for a hundred years and what a place it must have been! For most of its history it was run as a kind of ‘social’ company town by Francois Mosselman and his successors, the owners of the zinc mine. Taxes and prices were low, wages high and, for much of the time, its population were able to avoid the rapacious desire of both Belgium and Germany to conscript them as cannon-fodder. Such a haven attracted many immigrants and Neutral Moresnet’s population grew ten-fold from just 256 in 1816 to 2,572 in 1858. And why not? People were allowed to have their own breweries and distilleries, although supposedly only for their own use. Eventually there were 60-70 bars and cafes in the main street alone. Truly I think I’ve ‘found my bliss’. But even they couldn’t drink all the alcohol they produced and much of the population turned to smuggling booze to Holland, a good case we might think of taking coals to Newcastle.

Dr. Wilhelm Molly

The enclave printed its own stamps and wrote its own national anthem. In the early twentieth century, under the leadership of a local doctor, Wilhelm Molly, it even tried to make Esperanto the official language of what Dr. Molly proposed to call ‘Amikejo’. The fourth Esperantist Congress decided to make Neutral Moresnet the new seat of its global organization instead of The Hague.

Regrettably, this bucolic, and probably inebriated, existence all came tumbling down when the Germans capitulated in 1918. The Treaty of Versailles granted the enclave to Belgium. So I can’t move there. Yet there’s no need for despair, Belgium, in its genius, has another couple of enclaves to offer.

The Vennbahn Corridor and The German Enclaves in Belgium

I could go and live on a railway line. Starting in 1885 the Germans built the Vennbahn (‘Fenn Rail’) from Aachen to Trois Ponts in the province of Liège. Over the course of the next decades, and after two German invasions of Belgium, the ownership and property of the Vennbahn was granted to Belgium. The only problem is that this separated five German areas from Germany proper. Strictly speaking it’s these German communes that are the enclaves. The present Belgian territory, often no wider than the railway line itself, is not really cut off from the rest of the country; so it doesn’t really match my criteria. Not only this, but I don’t think I could live there. Stretches of the former railway line have been converted into cycle tracks and the mere thought of waking up every morning to the sight of groups of fat, lycra-clad, German cyclists passing my front window is enough to bring on waves of nausea.

Yet Belgium has one last trick up its sleeve – Baarle.

The Baarle Enclaves

Believe it or not just north of the Belgium town of Breda but in the present-day Netherlands there are twenty-two tiny Belgian enclaves in and around the town of Baarle. It gets better. Lying within these Belgian enclaves in Dutch territory (called Baarle-Hertog) there are also seven Dutch sub-enclaves (called Baarle-Nassau), plus another one in Belgium proper. The total surface area is only 2.34 square kilometers with a population of roughly 2,200. The history of these enclaves goes back to 1203, but the important thing for me is that despite lots of changes these wonderful enclaves still exist and I could go and live there. What joy it must have been, and hopefully still is, for the inhabitants of Baarle to drive the functionaries to distraction. I’ll mention just a few of the pleasures I have discovered.

The Baarle frontiers run through houses and shops

The frontiers sometimes run straight through houses and shops, offering great opportunities to irritate the bureaucrats. Dutch and Belgian taxes and child benefits often vary in their generosity. This affords the chance to change your residence as you deem best for you. Residence is defined by in which country your main entrance is located, so if you want to change your residency, and hence your fiscal regime, you can change your front door. People do this. There are houses in Baarle with an inward-opening front entrance in one country and an outward-opening door in the other. If the relative tax merits of Holland and Belgium change you can always reverse the hinges. How the Dutch and Belgian petty bureaucrats must hate this!

And then there is no better way to savour the ludicrous, capricious nature of state borders than to post a letter.  If you post a letter in a Dutch enclave within the Belgian enclave in Holland, to a person down the street in the Belgian enclave itself, your letter will first go to Brussels then by air to Amsterdam before eventually making its way back to Baarle. If, on the other hand, you were to walk a few metres down the street and post your letter in the Belgian enclave it would never leave the town at all.

Back to alcohol. One report I have read tells us that ‘several years ago Belgium and Holland had different licensing hours which the landlord of one of Baarle’s pubs, bisected by the frontier, blatantly exploited by installing a set of doors on each side of the border. When they stopped selling alcohol in Belgium, the patrons hastily left through the Belgian door, only to re-enter immediately through the Dutch one and to carry on boozing.’ It irritated the authorities so much they had to harmonize the licensing laws to do away with this simple pleasure.

What about fireworks and sex? The truly important things in life. Anyone who knows Holland a little will know that you’re only allowed to buy fireworks on Christmas Eve (please tell me if I am wrong); but then the Dutch go absolutely crazy with them. In Belgium you can buy them all year round, so the firework trade in Baarle thrives. ‘The Dutch bits of the town respond with numerous sex shops – not allowed near public buildings in Belgium, but thriving on the Dutch territory, next door to the Belgian town council in Baarle.’

Finally, I love the fact that in the town there are ‘two mayors (Belgian and Dutch), two sets of political parties, two town councils, two fire brigades trying to beat each other to the fire, two post offices, two refuse collection services. It is the only town in the world where police forces of two different countries share not only the same police station but also the same offices, with filing cabinets painted in the colours of Dutch or Belgian national flags.’

Belgium and its Languages

Belgium is, of course, an artificial creation, a place where the French-speaking Walloons, the Flemish, and the oft forgotten Germans in the east of the country, have been living unhappily together for nearly two hundred years. But the Belgian enclaves have been a real and great gift that Belgium has given to the world; along with… well I can’t think of anything else at the moment.

So the Belgian enclaves of Baarle in Holland are the places for me. Now I only need to persuade my family of their merits.

As long as Civilization has existed the majority has always been deprived of its liberty and its voice. It has been literally and figuratively muzzled. You can look anywhere in the world and to any period in history and you will find that this is so. I recently discovered a very strange link between two such barbarities – between press-ganged English sailors and the ‘dirt-eating masks’ many African slaves were made to wear in America.  Both sets of people had their voice removed, and although the reasons seem quite distinct they are really just separate manifestations of a more central truth.

Whitby, Yorkshire – The setting for Gaskell’s Novel and a town much plagued by press-gangs

In 1863, the English novelist Elizabeth Gaskell published Sylvia’s Lovers, set in a fictional Whitby, Yorkshire (‘Monkshaven’), at the start of the Napoleonic Wars. The novel is both a typical nineteenth century tragic love story and a strident denunciation of the evils of British naval impressment. I explained in a recent short article that by 1793 seventy-five percent of the crews of British naval vessels consisted of prisoners of war, convicts and those forced into service. Sailors, their families, their friends and whole communities tried to evade the rapacious press-gangs whenever and wherever they could. When they couldn’t, they fought back. Sometimes hundreds of people would turn out, armed as they best could, to prevent their men being hauled away ‘like slaves or criminals’, first to rot in offshore ‘tenders’ lined with metal to stop them hacking away the wood to escape, and then to serve at His Majesty’s pleasure in ships of the Royal Navy – often never to return. Throughout the eighteenth century people also tried to escape the gangs by recourse to the law and the courts. Although they occasionally had some success, the law, the judges and the politicians, the ruling elite, were usually against them. The government wanted to fight its wars on distant fields and seas and if the common people didn’t show enough alacrity by volunteering in sufficient numbers to man the growing Royal Navy, then they would have to simply be ripped from their homes, from their taverns and from merchant vessels and forced to serve.

In Sylvia’s Lovers, the eponymous heroine’s father, Daniel, who had  been impressed some years previously during the ‘American War’ (or Revolution if you like), decided to resist the press-gangs when they returned again to the town to collect fodder for the war with France. There was a major riot and the people of the town chased the gangs away. But retribution soon followed and Daniel was hanged as an example. The story was based on true events in Whitby of 1793 and Daniel’s fate was based on the hanging of a certain William Atkinson:

William Atkinson, Hannah Hobson, John Harrison late of the parish of Whitby in the North Riding committed Feb. 26th, 1793, charged on subpoena of a Felony in having with divers other persons then unknown, on Sat. 23d of the same month about nine o’clock at night riotously assembled themselves together against the peace of our Lord the King, and with force and arms, unlawfully begun to pull down and demolish the dwelling House of John Cooper of Whitby aforesaid Shoe Maker… William Atkinson, hanged 13th April, 1793.             Calendar of Felons and Malefactors tried at the Assizes at York on the 18th day of March, 1793.

William Wilberforce – The anti-slavery campaigner

Only with Napoleon’s defeat did the movement for the abolition of impressment start to gain strength. Although by the time Gaskell wrote her book she could write in it, ‘Now all this tyranny (for I can use no other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience to the governing powers’, impressment was never actually legally abolished and came back in different guises throughout the, misnamed, nineteenth century ‘Pax Britannica’, finally to be replaced by explicit conscription during the First World War. One of the most vociferous advocates of impressment abolition was Thomas Urquhart. Released, he tells us, from any feeling of patriotic duty once the war against the French had been won, he started a long campaign of writing to the Admiralty, to politicians and to the’ great and the good’ to try to persuade them that impressment was a crime against every Englishman’s birth right of liberty and was comparable to slavery.

In 1816, in a public letter to William Wilberforce, the leading anti-slavery campaigner, Urquhart wrote:

I have been anxiously waiting for the present period, when the foes of our country are subdued, to address you on the subject of Slavery. The great and unwearied efforts you have made to suppress the traffic of human flesh will transmit your name with honor, as a man and Christian, to the most remote posterity. You have at last received the noblest reward in the success which has crowned your labours; and the treaty just concluded with France, consecrates your exertions, whilst it shews what a single individual, impelled by an honest zeal, is capable of performing. This perseverance and this success in behalf of the negro, encourages me to claim your powerful aid, in order to redress another grievance equally glaring and where the sufferers have a much stronger title than the African, to your sympathy. The sufferers are Britons; and what is more, to their courage and intrepidity the country is principally indebted for the prosperity and security she now enjoys.

I belong myself to this class of men, whose hardships have been so long and so unaccountably neglected ; and whilst you, Sir, and other philanthropists ranged the earth, in order to break the fetters of the slave, you disregarded with singular inconsistency, the ill treatment which the British seaman, the guardian of your independence, has been obliged to endure. In his cause no bolts of eloquence were shot, no commiseration was excited ; and whilst he encountered death in every form, and raised the fame of Britain to the highest elevation that can be reached, his ill treatment, though more galling than that of the negro, because he was born and bred up with the rights and feelings of a free man, remain unnoticed and unredressed.

Despite his rather objectionable comparison of the relative ‘title’ of the slaves and the seamen, Urquhart wasn’t against the abolition of slavery:

It is not my intention to defend the principle or the practice of slavery; I am only anxious that the persons who have displayed so much fervour, zeal, and perseverance in attacking both, would look at home, and try to correct the evils to which I have called your attention in the course of this letter. To the condition of the lower classes in this and every other country, hardships are attached, which demand as much sympathy as the case of the African.

Yet he does suggest that escaped slaves were happy to return to their owners, while impressed seamen never returned to the Royal Navy willingly:

I have known a concern in one of those islands (the West Indies)  which had from twenty to thirty negroes, most of whom were sailors, and who during the late war, were captured, some once, twice, and even thrice, and were conveyed to that land of liberty and equality, Guadeloupe, all of whom voluntarily returned to their owners as soon as they could get away, except one who could not be accounted for; but this you will perhaps say was a rare instance. Sir, I could produce various of the same kind, as well attested as any other fact, and which would shew that no small share of exaggeration has prevailed on the subject ; however, it substantiates the truth of my comparison, and I might go farther, and ask, if there be one instance on record, of mercantile seamen who had been impressed into the naval service, with the same opportunity to evade it, ever voluntarily returning to it again?

He then makes this (for us) perhaps rather strange observation:

In the print-shops in London, a negro is represented with an iron mouth-piece, and this exhibition has been made with a view to make the public suppose, that this mouth-piece is put on to prevent the slave from eating sugar or cane; yet the whole of the inference intended to be drawn from this subject is false.

(When I say this, I mean as to the cause ascribed for the use of it. That it may have been put upon a negro for a criminal act, as punishment, I can believe, although I never saw it done, or heard of its being done. In this country for the game act, you perhaps would have put a rope round his neck)

There is a distemper to which negroes are subject and at which time they are in the habit, unless forcibly prevented, of eating earth; at this time their mouth is covered until a cure can be effected. This is the secret of the terrific mouth-piece, which has been the topic of so much invective against West Indians.

Slave wearing a dirt-eater mask

He was referring to what are now called ‘Dirt-Eater Masks’. These were just one of numerous barbaric punishments and humiliations inflicted on African slaves in North American, in the West Indies and in South America.

But were these masks really ‘designed’ to prevent the slaves eating dirt? The answer seems to be ‘Yes… but’. I’ll first try to explain the ‘yes’ and later the more tricky question of ‘but’.

Dirt-eating’s Latin medical name is Geophagia: ’The deliberate consumption of earth, soil or clay.’ Surprising as it may seem, this practice goes back millennia in Europe and Africa. It still exists today. In fact it is a sub-category of Pica, ‘a term that comes from the Latin for magpie, a bird with indiscriminate eating habits’. The American Psychiatric Association defines Pica as, ‘persistent eating of non-nutritional substances that is inappropriate to developmental level (sic), occurs outside culturally sanctioned practice and, if observed during the course of another mental disorder, is sufficiently severe to warrant independent attention.’ Well that seems debatable, but I’ll leave it to one side.

In the fifth century BC in Greece, the ‘founder’ of medicine, Hippocrates of Kos, wrote:

If a pregnant woman feels the desire to eat earth or charcoal and then eats them, the child will show signs of these things.

A Roman medical textbook tells us that ‘people whose colour is bad when they are not jaundiced are either sufferers from pains in the head or earth eaters’. The Roman Pliny writes that ‘Alica’, made of red clay, ‘used as a drug has a smoothing effect… as a remedy for ulcers in the humid part of body such as the mouth or anus. Used in an enema it arrests diarrhoea, and taken though the mount… it checks menstruation’. Actually the use of clay for such purposes is still prevalent today; you can buy it in any pharmacy!

Throughout the Classical period and into the Middle Ages and early modern period there are numerous references to earth or dirt eating and its various beneficial effects. Some of the references given at the end provide more detail as well as the examples I have quoted. One such, entitled Geophagia: the history of earth-eating, by two South African doctors, concludes as follows:

All the concepts of geophagia—as psychiatric disorder, culturally sanctioned practice or sequel to famine—fall short of a satisfying explanation. The causation is certainly multifactorial; and clearly the practice of earth-eating has existed since the first medical texts were written. The descriptions do not allow simple categorization as a psychiatric disease. Finally, geophagia is not confined to a particular cultural environment and is observed in the absence of hunger. Might it be an atavistic mode of behaviour, formerly invaluable when minerals and trace elements were scarce? Its re-emergence might then be triggered by events such as famine, cultural change or psychiatric disease.

In his survey of Holmes County in the 1970s, Dr. Dennis Frate of the University of Mississippi wrote:

Dirt-eating can be traced to ancient Greece, to Africa. It was a part of European culture and was observed in the American Indians. Practically every culture has had a dirt-eating phase,’ Frate said. ‘But very little is known about why people do it.

So there is ample evidence that African slaves brought the practice of earth eating with them to the colonies. In the United States there have been quite a few newspaper articles describing how the practice still persists, predominantly (though not exclusively) amongst Afro-Americans and in the southern states. Here’s just one from the New York Times in 1984, it quotes Dr. Frate again:

According to his research, Dr. Frate said it was not uncommon for slave owners to put masks over the mouths of slaves to keep them from eating dirt. The owners thought the practice was a cause of death and illness among slaves, when they were more likely dying from malnutrition.

It is difficult to say how prevalent dirt-eating is today. But in 1975, among 56 black women questioned by Dr. Frate as part of a larger study on nutrition in rural Holmes County, 32 of them said they ate dirt. The survey also showed that the ingestion of dirt tended to be more common in pregnancy.

There have been other explanations. Some have suggested that the masks were used by slave owners to prevent slaves eating earth to excess, trying to commit suicide, and although there isn’t much evidence for this it may well have happened. In Brazil, where the slaves were used to mine gold, it has also been suggested that the masks were to prevent them from eating earth containing nuggets of gold and later, no doubt, recovering the nuggets from their faeces.

Another mask

Whatever the reasons for the slaves eating ‘dirt’ – be they cultural, nutritional, medicinal, suicidal or financial – and scholarly opinion has yet to reach a consensus – the fact is that the slave owners wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps they were just trying to protect their ‘investment’ in their slaves, to stop them harming themselves, even killing themselves or (and only in Brazil) stealing gold? I don’t really know and the whole subject needs more attention. But here is the ‘but’. Slaves had already been deprived of their liberty, and often their lives, but they must also be deprived of their customs, their voice. Eating the earth, eating dirt, was just one of these.

Thus while there is still some mystery about the ‘role’ of dirt eating and the reasons for the masks, there can, perhaps, be no better graphic and literal illustration of the loss of slaves’ voices than the horrific pictures of them wearing these ‘dirt eating masks’.

English sailors didn’t go quietly, and neither did the Africans. They went kicking and screaming. But the sailors, once on board His Majesty’s Royal Navy ships, had lost their voice as well as their liberty. If they tried to escape (which they repeatedly did) they could be flogged, incarcerated or hanged, as could the African slaves.

These two examples of ‘historic’ barbarities might seem very different – and they are – but one truth connects them. Britain’s rulers – the rich and powerful – wanted to extend their wealth and were willing to fight in distant lands and on distant seas to do so. Of course, most of them didn’t want to fight themselves; they needed a constant and growing stream of common cannon-fodder to man the Royal Navy’s ships and to fight for them. When ordinary English people didn’t flock to the mast in sufficient numbers to crew the growing navy, the rulers did what they always have done, they forced them to.

Exactly the same happened with slavery in the colonies. Initially, European indentured bondsmen were used on the plantations. But more and more servile and cheap labour was needed if the planters were to enrich themselves further. So what was done? With the active encouragement and support of the British government/rulers, private entrepreneurial slave traders from Bristol and Liverpool (and from elsewhere in Europe) forcibly yanked Africans from their homes and transported them to America.

Both of these things were about power and money. The voices of the less powerful were repressed and their liberties stolen. Plus ça change plus c’est la même chose. Marie Antoinette may have suggested that the unwashed masses eat cake, but more often than not they had to eat dirt.

Some references:

Elizabeth Gaskell, Sylvia’s Lovers, 1863; Nicholas Rogers, The Press Gang, Continuum UK, 2007; Thomas Urquhart, A letter to William Wilberforce on the Subject of Impressment, 1816; Donald E. Vermeer and Dennis A. Frate,  Geophagia in rural Mississippi: environmental and cultural contexts and nutritional implications, 2001. http://www.ajcn.org/content/32/10/2129.full.pdf , William Schmidt, Southern Practice of Eating Earth shows signs of Waning, New York Times, 1984; Alan Huffman, It’s hard to quite the habit, Mississippi dirt-eaters say, Clarion-Ledger, 1983; Alexander Woywodt and Akos Kiss, Geophagia: the history of earth-eating, 2002;  Geophagy,  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geophagy.

It’s funny how very often pondering one thing will lead on to quite another. Recently I was thinking about how much great English literature has been written by women – novels in particular. I don’t mean the oh-so-sensitive Jane Austin or the bodice-rippers of the Bronte sisters, but rather women who wrote wonderful books but didn’t avoid the harsh social and political realities of the times in which they lived  or about which they wrote. Women such as Elizabeth Gaskell, George Elliot and Mary Shelley, there are many more.  One of my own favourites was Mary Webb.

Mary Webb's Precious Bane

Mary Webb was a Shropshire writer and she beautifully evokes a sense of place. In her last novel, Precious Bane (1924), set at the end of the Napoleonic Wars, that place is Sarn Mere. It is a fictitious village on a small lake (‘mere’) in the flatlands of northern Shropshire:

There’s a discouragement about the place. It may be the water lapping, year in and year out–everywhere you look and listen, water; or the big trees waiting and considering on your right hand and on your left; or the unbreathing quiet of the place, as if it was created but an hour gone, and not created for us.

Prudence Sarn and her brother Gideon are burying their father and the coffin is standing by the grave. The mourners had all ‘drank good health’ to their father from the ‘big pewter tankard full of elderberry wine’, which was all their mother had been able to afford. But ‘at the coffin foot was our little pewter measure full of wine, and a crust of bread with it, but nobody touched them.’

One of the mourners, a certain Sexton, then stepped forward and asked:

 ’Be there a Sin Eater?’

And Mother cried out –

‘Alas, no! Woe’s me! There is no Sin Eater for poor Sarn. Gideon gainsayed it.’

Mary Webb’s narrator Prudence then tells us what a sin-eater was:

Now it was still the custom at that time, in our part of the country, to give a fee to some poor man after a death, and then he would take bread and wine handed to him across the coffin, and eat and drink, saying –

I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man, that ye walk not over the fields nor down the by-ways. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul.

And with a calm and grievous look he would go to his own place. Mostly, my Grandad used to say, Sin Eaters were such as had been Wise Men or layers of spirits, and had fallen on evil days. Or they were poor folk that had come, through some dark deed, out of the kindly life of men, and with whom none would trade, whose only food might oftentimes be the bread and wine that had crossed the coffin. In our time there were none left around Sarn. They had nearly died out, and they had to be sent for to the mountains. It was a long way to send, and they asked a big price, instead of doing it for nothing as in the old days.

So Gideon said: ‘We’ll save the money. What good would the man do?’ But their mother ‘would not be comforted’ because her husband ‘had died in his wrath, with all his sins upon him’. ‘He had died in his boots, which is a very unket thing and bodes no good.’ So when Sexton calls out once again, ‘Be there a Sin Eater?’:

Then a strange, heart-shaking thing came to pass. Gideon stepped up to the coffin and said -

‘There is a Sin Eater.’

‘Who then? I see none,’ said Sexton.

‘I ool be the Sin Eater.’

He took up the little pewter measure full of darkness, and he looked at Mother.

‘Oot turn over the farm and all to me if I be the Sin Eater, Mother?’ he said.

‘No, no! Sin Eaters be accurst!’

‘What harm, to drink a sup of your own wine and chumble a crust of your own bread? But if you dunna care, let be. He can go with the sin on him.’

With grave misgivings the mother eventually relents; to save her husband’s soul from Satan: ‘If there’s none else to help, let his own lad take pity.’ Gideon wants to make sure that his mother will give him the family farm if he acts as his father’s sin-eater. ‘Yes, yes, my dear!’, she says, ‘What be the farm to me? You can take all, and welcome.’

Then Gideon drank the wine all of a gulp, and swallowed the crust. There was no sound in all the place but the sound of his teeth biting it up.

Then he put his hand on the coffin, standing up tall in the high black hat, with a gleaming pale face, and he said –

‘I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes nor in our meadows. And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.’

There was a sigh from everybody then, like the wind in dry bents. Even the oxen by the gate, it seemed to me, sighed as they chewed the cud.

But when Gideon said, ‘Come not down the lanes nor in our meadows,’ I thought he said it like somebody warning off a trespasser.

Of course Gideon had made a type of Faustian pact to get the farm, his bane is gold, which he sets of to acquire quite regardless of the harm he will do to others. He is, of course, cursed and doomed.

Precious Bane is a wonderful book but what concerns me here is the idea of sin-eaters. Although sin-eating was particularly prevalent in Wales and the English border counties (including Shropshire) it was also found around other parts of Britain and Europe. It even found its way to America.

In a 1926 book entitled Funeral Customs we read:

Professor Evans of the Presbyterian College, Carmarthen, actually saw a sin-eater about the year 1825, who was then living near Llanwenog, Cardiganshire. Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper. This unfortunate was held to be the associate of evil spirits, and given to witchcraft, incantations and unholy practices; only when a death took place did they seek him out, and when his purpose was accomplished they burned the wooden bowl and platter from which he had eaten the food handed across, or placed on the corpse for his consumption.

In the 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica we are told:

A symbolic survival of it (sin eating) was witnessed as recently as 1893 at Market Drayton, Shropshire.  After a preliminary service had been held over the coffin in the house, a woman poured out a glass of wine for each bearer and handed it to him across the coffin with a ‘funeral biscuit.’ In Upper Bavaria  sin-eating still survives: a corpse cake is placed on the breast of the dead and then eaten by the nearest relative, while in the Balkan peninsular a small bread image of the deceased is made and eaten by the survivors of the family. The Dutch doed-koecks or ‘dead-cakes’, marked with the initials of the deceased, introduced into America in the 17th century, were long given to the attendants at funerals in old New York.

Richard Munslow's Grave in Ratlinghope -'The Last of the Sin-Eaters'

So in fact sin-eaters hadn’t quite died out at the end of the Napoleonic wars when Mary Webb’s novel is set. Prudence even tells us that ‘they had to be sent for to the mountains’. In England it seems the last sin-eater only died in 1906 in the village of Ratlinghope, this is indeed in the South Shropshire ‘mountains’ – in A E Housman’s ‘Blue Remembered Hills’. His name was Richard Munslow. Mr. Munslow, it seems, wasn’t a poor person or a beggar but a well-to-do farmer who ‘appears to have taken on the job after losing 3 of his children in a Whooping Cough outbreak.’ One can only imagine the tragedy of this.

Recently his grave had fallen into a bad state and the locals of Ratlinghope raised £1,000 for its restoration. Even the BBC reported in 2010 on the special service held in Ratlinghope Church in honour of this ‘the last of the sin-eaters’:

Frowned upon by the church, the custom mainly died out in the 19th Century.

The Reverend Norman Morris, the vicar of Ratlinghope, a village of about 100 residents on the Long Mynd near Church Stretton, led the “God’s Acre” service at St Margaret’s Church.

Mr. Morris said: “It was a very odd practice and would not have been approved of by the church but I suspect the vicar often turned a blind eye to the practice… This grave at Ratlinghope is now in an excellent state of repair but I have no desire to reinstate the ritual that went with it”

Aren’t Anglican vicars such lovely understanding people today! Maybe previous vicars had turned a blind eye, though as sin-eating was seen as akin to pagan witchcraft maybe quite a few were burned as heretics as well. Isn’t it rather ironic that our nice vicar has ‘no desire to reinstate the ritual that went with it’ although the whole of Christianity is based on the belief that Jesus Christ ‘died for our sins’ – just as the sin-eaters took the sins of the dying or dead upon themselves. Every week Catholics can confess their sins and be absolved and during every Mass Christians literally drink the blood of Christ and eat his body. So not much difference there.

But what is this concept of sin? Christianity tells us that because of the ‘original sin’ we are all ‘fallen’ and every one of us is born sinful, even little children. Even kindly Anglican vicars will still come into your house and tell you that your small daughter is a sinner and that you must acknowledge this before baptism. What bunkum. A good boot up the behind is I think in order.

For me the word ‘Sin’ has become so contaminated by religious dogma that we might as well abandon it. I prefer the equally graphic word ‘Evil’. Perhaps the best definition I have heard of evil is that it is the total absence of empathy. Only people or institutions who lack empathy can commit the individual and group atrocities we witness throughout the world every day.

We don’t need sin-eaters any more, whether of the Gideon Sarn kind or the Christian kind. Whether we call things sins or evil, people and institutions need to be held responsible for the acts they commit in this life, not absolved from them every Sunday or on their death bed so they can go to heaven.

Throughout most of history ordinary people have not joined armies and navies willingly, much less joined up to fight their rulers’ wars, wars that had no rhyme nor reason for them. In feudal times ordinary folk were obliged by their lords to follow them to war. More recently, for example in the First World War, when whipping up patriotic fervor didn’t suffice to produce enough cannon-fodder (and it didn’t) people were conscripted – which just means being forced to go and fight.

Press Gangs - A common way to get people to fight wars that they didn't want to

Another handy tactic employed for centuries in England was ‘impressment’. The Royal Navy paid groups of armed thugs – called Press Gangs – to roam the streets and seize ordinary citizens (often but not always sailors) against their will, and usually fiercely resisted, and carry them off like convicts to serve as ‘Tars’ in vile and dangerous conditions in His Majesty’s Navy. If they ever made it home alive they could easily find themselves impressed yet again.

By 1793 seventy-five percent of the crews of British vessels consisted of prisoners of war, convicts and those forced into service. Of course the English people resisted such tyranny, as they always have, but to little effect. But that’s another story.

I came across a poem published in 1794, at the beginning of the Napoleonic Wars, that I found very moving:

The Tender’s Hold or The Sailor’s Complaint


While Landmen wander uncontrol’d,
    And boast the rights of Freemen,
Oh! view the tender’s loathsome hold,
    Where droop your injur’d Seamen:
Dragg’d by Oppression’s savage grasp,
    From ev’ry dear connection;
‘Midst putrid air, Oh! see them gasp,
    Oh! mark their deep dejection.

        Blush then, Oh! blush ye pension’d host,
            Who wallow in profusion,
        For our foul cell proves all your boast
            To be but mere delusion.

If Liberty be ours, Oh! say
    Why are not all protected;
Why is the hand of ruffian sway
    ’Gainst Seamen thus directed?
Is this your proof of British rights?
    Is this rewarding bravery?
Oh! shame to boast your Tars’ exploits,
    Yet doom those Tars to slavery.

        Blush, then, etc.

But just return’d from noxious skies,
    And winter’s raging ocean,
To land the sun-burnt Seaman flies,
    Impell’d by strong emotion.
His much-lov’d KATE, his children dear,
    Around him cling delighted,
When, lo! th’ Impressing Fiends appear,
    And every joy is blighted,

        Blush, then, etc.

Thus from each soft endearment torn,
    Behold the Seaman languish,
His wife, his children, left forlorn,
    The prey of bitter anguish.
‘Reft of those arms, whose vigorous strength
    Their shed from want defended,
They droop, and all their woes at length
    Are in a workhouse ended!

        Blush, then, etc.

Mark then, ye minions of a court,
    Who prate of Freedom’s blessing,
Yet every hell-born war support,
    And vindicate Impressing,
A time will come, when Things like you,
    Mere baubles of creation,
No more will make mankind pursue
    The work of devestation.

        Blush then, Oh! blush, ye pension’d host,
            Who wallow in profusion,
        For our foul cell proves all your boast
            To be but mere delusion.

 The Cambridge Intelligencer (September 6, 1794)

Even the conservative ‘Romantic’ poets Wordsworth and Shelley were repulsed by the Press Gangs. Wordsworth in Guilt and Sorrow (1793-1794) tells the oppression of:

A Sailor he, who many a wretched hour
Hath told; for, landing after labour hard,
Full long endured in hope of just reward,
He to an arméd fleet was forced away
By seamen, who perhaps themselves had
                             shared
Like fate; was hurried off, a helpless
                             prey,
‘Gainst all that in his heart, or theirs
                             perhaps, say nay.

While Shelley in The Voyage (1812) tells of an impressed sailor’s return home, only to be impressed again and told:

                                   . . . oh! your wife
“Died this time year in the House of Industry
“Your young ones all are dead, except one
                             brat
“Stubborn as you—Parish apprentice now

We need to hear more about how Englishmen (and for that matter every other nationality) have been forced to fight against their will since ‘civilization’ arose. As Walter Benjamin once wrote:    

There is no document of civilization that is not at the same time a document of barbarism.

Even in our scientific age we humans still tell stories, indeed it seems we need to tell stories. Stories to try to make sense of our lives and stories to try to understand our world. Rational, scientific stories will quite often suffice. Many of these are illuminating and beautiful, numinous even. We have the wonderful story of human evolution, the story of relativity and quantum physics, the stories of the diversity of life and the unfolding story of the origins of the universe. Yet sometimes we try to grasp other insights, truths even, which are not yet illuminated by science. We tell stories to ourselves and to others, in literature, in music, in art and even using legends and myths.

La Barbe Bleue - Charles Perrault

One type of story is the fairy tale. Some of these find their origin in the mists of time and some may even have been based on real events, though these are well-nye impossible to recover. At first largely orally transmitted, only later were these tales written down. In the English-speaking world we tend to think that our most famous fairy tales come from the Germanic world, from the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. But many of our favourite tales were first written down by a Frenchman in the seventeenth century. His name was Charles Perrault. You might be surprised to know that it was Perrault who first brought us Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty and Puss in Boots. Another tale that Perrault first wrote down was Bluebeard. It’s a story that I have returned to on and off over the last twenty years; first in the Brothers Grimm version, later in Béla Bartók’s 1911 opera Duke Bluebeard’s Castle and more recently yet again in Perrault’s original. What does it mean? Of course there can never be an answer to this question; so what does it mean for me? But first Perrault’s Bluebeard itself:

 Bluebeard

 There was once a man who had fine houses, both in town and country, a deal of silver and gold plate, embroidered furniture, and coaches gilded all over with gold. But this man was so unlucky as to have a blue beard, which made him so frightfully ugly that all the women and girls ran away from him.

One of his neighbors, a lady of quality, had two daughters who were perfect beauties. He desired of her one of them in marriage, leaving to her choice which of the two she would bestow on him. Neither of them would have him, and they sent him backwards and forwards from one to the other, not being able to bear the thoughts of marrying a man who had a blue beard. Adding to their disgust and aversion was the fact that he already had been married to several wives, and nobody knew what had become of them.

Bluebeard, to engage their affection, took them, with their mother and three or four ladies of their acquaintance, with other young people of the neighborhood, to one of his country houses, where they stayed a whole week.

The time was filled with parties, hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth, and feasting. Nobody went to bed, but all passed the night in rallying and joking with each other. In short, everything succeeded so well that the youngest daughter began to think that the man’s beard was not so very blue after all, and that he was a mighty civil gentleman.

As soon as they returned home, the marriage was concluded. About a month afterwards, Bluebeard told his wife that he was obliged to take a country journey for six weeks at least, about affairs of very great consequence. He desired her to divert herself in his absence, to send for her friends and acquaintances, to take them into the country, if she pleased, and to make good cheer wherever she was.

“Here,” said he,” are the keys to the two great wardrobes, wherein I have my best furniture. These are to my silver and gold plate, which is not everyday in use. These open my strongboxes, which hold my money, both gold and silver; these my caskets of jewels. And this is the master key to all my apartments. But as for this little one here, it is the key to the closet at the end of the great hall on the ground floor. Open them all; go into each and every one of them, except that little closet, which I forbid you, and forbid it in such a manner that, if you happen to open it, you may expect my just anger and resentment.”

She promised to observe, very exactly, whatever he had ordered. Then he, after having embraced her, got into his coach and proceeded on his journey.

Her neighbors and good friends did not wait to be sent for by the newly married lady. They were impatient to see all the rich furniture of her house, and had not dared to come while her husband was there, because of his blue beard, which frightened them. They ran through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, which were all so fine and rich that they seemed to surpass one another.

After that, they went up into the two great rooms, which contained the best and richest furniture. They could not sufficiently admire the number and beauty of the tapestry, beds, couches, cabinets, stands, tables, and looking glasses, in which you might see yourself from head to foot; some of them were framed with glass, others with silver, plain and gilded, the finest and most magnificent that they had ever seen.

They ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their friend, who in the meantime in no way diverted herself in looking upon all these rich things, because of the impatience she had to go and open the closet on the ground floor. She was so much pressed by her curiosity that, without considering that it was very uncivil for her to leave her company, she went down a little back staircase, and with such excessive haste that she nearly fell and broke her neck.

Having come to the closet door, she made a stop for some time, thinking about her husband’s orders, and considering what unhappiness might attend her if she was disobedient; but the temptation was so strong that she could not overcome it. She then took the little key, and opened it, trembling. At first she could not see anything plainly, because the windows were shut. After some moments she began to perceive that the floor was all covered over with clotted blood, on which lay the bodies of several dead women, ranged against the walls. (These were all the wives whom Bluebeard had married and murdered, one after another.) She thought she should have died for fear, and the key, which she, pulled out of the lock, fell out of her hand.

After having somewhat recovered her surprise, she picked up the key, locked the door, and went upstairs into her chamber to recover; but she could not, so much was she frightened. Having observed that the key to the closet was stained with blood, she tried two or three times to wipe it off; but the blood would not come out; in vain did she wash it, and even rub it with soap and sand. The blood still remained, for the key was magical and she could never make it quite clean; when the blood was gone off from one side, it came again on the other.

Bluebeard returned from his journey the same evening, saying that he had received letters upon the road, informing him that the affair he went about had concluded to his advantage. His wife did all she could to convince him that she was extremely happy about his speedy return.

The next morning he asked her for the keys, which she gave him, but with such a trembling hand that he easily guessed what had happened.

“What!” said he, “is not the key of my closet among the rest?”

“I must,” said she, “have left it upstairs upon the table.”

“Fail not,” said Bluebeard, “to bring it to me at once.”

After several goings backwards and forwards, she was forced to bring him the key. Bluebeard, having very attentively considered it, said to his wife, “Why is there blood on the key?”

“I do not know,” cried the poor woman, paler than death.

“You do not know!” replied Bluebeard. “I very well know. You went into the closet, did you not? Very well, madam; you shall go back, and take your place among the ladies you saw there.”

Upon this she threw herself at her husband’s feet, and begged his pardon with all the signs of a true repentance, vowing that she would never more be disobedient. She would have melted a rock, so beautiful and sorrowful was she; but Bluebeard had a heart harder than any rock!

“You must die, madam,” said he, “at once.”

“Since I must die,” answered she (looking upon him with her eyes all bathed in tears), “give me some little time to say my prayers.”

“I give you,” replied Bluebeard, “half a quarter of an hour, but not one moment more.”

When she was alone she called out to her sister, and said to her, “Sister Anne” (for that was her name), “go up, I beg you, to the top of the tower, and look if my brothers are not coming. They promised me that they would come today, and if you see them, give them a sign to make haste.”

Her sister Anne went up to the top of the tower, and the poor afflicted wife cried out from time to time, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

And sister Anne said, “I see nothing but a cloud of dust in the sun, and the green grass.”

In the meanwhile Bluebeard, holding a great saber in his hand, cried out as loud as he could bawl to his wife, “Come down instantly, or I shall come up to you.”

“One moment longer, if you please,” said his wife; and then she cried out very softly, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see anybody coming?”

And sister Anne answered, “I see nothing but a cloud of dust in the sun, and the green grass.”

“Come down quickly,” cried Bluebeard, “or I will come up to you.”

“I am coming,” answered his wife; and then she cried, “Anne, sister Anne, do you not see anyone coming?”

“I see,” replied sister Anne, “a great cloud of dust approaching us.”

“Are they my brothers?”

“Alas, no my dear sister, I see a flock of sheep.”

“Will you not come down?” cried Bluebeard.

“One moment longer,” said his wife, and then she cried out, “Anne, sister Anne, do you see nobody coming?”

“I see,” said she, “two horsemen, but they are still a great way off.”

“God be praised,” replied the poor wife joyfully. “They are my brothers. I will make them a sign, as well as I can for them to make haste.”

Then Bluebeard bawled out so loud that he made the whole house tremble. The distressed wife came down, and threw herself at his feet, all in tears, with her hair about her shoulders.

“This means nothing,” said Bluebeard. “You must die!” Then, taking hold of her hair with one hand, and lifting up the sword with the other, he prepared to strike off her head. The poor lady, turning about to him, and looking at him with dying eyes, desired him to afford her one little moment to recollect herself.

“No, no,” said he, “commend yourself to God,” and was just ready to strike.

At this very instant there was such a loud knocking at the gate that Bluebeard made a sudden stop. The gate was opened, and two horsemen entered. Drawing their swords, they ran directly to Bluebeard. He knew them to be his wife’s brothers, one a dragoon, the other a musketeer; so that he ran away immediately to save himself; but the two brothers pursued and overtook him before he could get to the steps of the porch. Then they ran their swords through his body and left him dead. The poor wife was almost as dead as her husband, and had not strength enough to rise and welcome her brothers.

Bluebeard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his estate. She made use of one part of it to marry her sister Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to buy captains’ commissions for her brothers, and the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman, who made her forget the ill time she had passed with Bluebeard.

There are myriad later versions of Bluebeard, many with a darker ending as we shall see. Interpretations abound. Perrault himself liked to add little moral tags to his tales. At the end of Bluebeard he wrote two:

                  Moral

Ladies, you should never pry,—
You’ll repent it by and by!
‘Tis the silliest of sins;
Trouble in a trice begins.
There are, surely—more’s the woe
Lots of things you need not know.
Come, forswear it now and here—
Joy so brief that costs so dear!

                  Another Moral

You can tell this tale is old
By the very way it’s told.
Those were days of derring-do;
Man was lord, and master too.
Then the husband ruled as king.
Now it’s quite a different thing;
Be his beard what hue it may—
Madam has a word to say!

Later Freudian and Jungian psycho-analysts couldn’t resist the tale. As you might imagine their interpretations all centred around keys and locks (read penises and vaginas) and around the blood on the closet key that couldn’t be wiped off (read defloration). But let’s not bother ourselves further with such bunkum.

In more recent times, Bluebeard has become a favourite story for feminists. Dozens of retellings have appeared – from Angela Carter and Margaret Attwood for example – and hundreds of interpretations offered. I wouldn’t dream of stepping on their turf.

Such stories can be interpreted in many ways and no one is right. In fact the word interpretation is probably not very helpful. I prefer to see them as parables or allegories which for us somehow mirror or illuminate a perhaps obscure, but nonetheless real, facet of our own life and our own world. It is in this way that I offer this short muse on Bluebeard.

Bluebeard’s new wife is not named by Perrault, so I will use the name given to her by Bartók in his opera – Judith.

Judith said to them, “Listen to me. I am about to do a thing which will go down through all generations of our descendants”. Book of Judith 8.32

What had become of Bluebeard's wives?

Judith and her sister were at first repulsed by Bluebeard’s ugliness. ‘Adding to their disgust and aversion was the fact that he already had been married to several wives, and nobody knew what had become of them.’ They felt that something was wrong, what had become of his wives? But Bluebeard was, after all, rich and he entertained Judith, her relatives and many young people in the neighbourhood for a week in just ‘one of his country houses’. ‘The time was filled with parties, hunting, fishing, dancing, mirth, and feasting. Nobody went to bed, but all passed the night in rallying and joking with each other.’ Judith was seduced by all this splendor and fun. His beard became less blue and even though she had sensed an evil she persuaded herself that ‘he was a mighty civil gentleman’.

When we are children we have an innate sense of right and wrong, it is biological. For sure our parents, our schools and our communities will ‘socialize’ us with more morality – sometimes for the good, often not. Just like Judith we can sense evil and we shy away. But then we are shown all the things we might have if we can just overcome our repulsion. All the cars, the houses, the clothes, the food and the holidays we can have. Judith must agree to marry Bluebeard, which she does despite her misgivings. We agree to join the great capitalist, consumerist frenzy despite an inkling that there’s something darker hidden just out of view. For both Judith and us, if we comply and obey then we are promised we will receive the precious keys to the cupboards in the castle, and all they contain. We can have it all so long as we submit and obey.

When Bluebeard goes away on a trip he ‘desires her to divert herself and make good cheer’. He gives her all the keys, keys to wardrobes, strongboxes and rooms where all his fortune and luxuries can be found. There is only one small catch, he forbids her to enter ‘the little closet’. If she does, he says, ‘you may expect my just anger and resentment’. Judith promises to obey. We know, of course, that hidden behind the closet door a horror lurks. Judith doesn’t know this yet.

Once Bluebeard is gone all her friends arrive to enjoy the castle. ‘They had not dared to come while her husband was there.’ They marveled at all the luxury and ‘they ceased not to extol and envy the happiness of their friend’. She really did seem to have been given the keys to happiness and everything one could desire in the world. But Judith had made a Faustian pact with Bluebeard, even if she was only dimly aware that she had. The price of the keys was to obey and not to question what lay hidden below the glittering surface.

Many of us do this in our own lives. We obey and we don’t question, and in return we (or some of us) can luxuriate in the good things of life. Yet we still feel something is not quite right, we know there is some type of knowledge, some type of insight that is being kept from us. Who really is Bluebeard? What really is the nature of the society we live in?

Judith is ‘curious’ and ‘impatient’. Although she knows she will be punished, she just must use the key to the little closet to see what’s inside. What is Bluebeard’s secret? We too are curious to find out what is hidden from our view. What are the hidden secrets of our society?

Having come to the closet door, she made a stop for some time, thinking about her husband’s orders, and considering what unhappiness might attend her if she was disobedient; but the temptation was so strong that she could not overcome it. She then took the little key, and opened it, trembling. At first she could not see anything plainly, because the windows were shut. After some moments she began to perceive that the floor was all covered over with clotted blood, on which lay the bodies of several dead women, ranged against the walls. (These were all the wives whom Bluebeard had married and murdered, one after another.) She thought she should have died for fear, and the key, which she, pulled out of the lock, fell out of her hand.

Bluebeard's wife opens the little closet

This was the secret. Bluebeard’s Heart of Darkness. His life, her life and the castle were all built on the blood of others. As Mr. Kurtz said while dying: ‘The Horror! The Horror!’

In our own lives too we might one day find that the life we lead, the jobs we do, and the luxuries we enjoy are all based on violence and death. Violence towards other humans, violence to other living beings and violence towards the earth. Once we are aware, once we are conscious of the horror, we want to put the genie back. Yet, no matter how frightened we are, we can’t

Judith was scared. What would happen to her if Bluebeard found out she had been disobedient? She notices that the closet key she had dropped was ‘stained with blood’. Desperately she tries to put the genie back in the bottle. ‘She tried two or three times to wipe it off; but the blood would not come off.’

Out, damned spot! out, I say!…. Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.   Lady Macbeth in Macbeth by William Shakespeare

The brothers kill Bluebeard

At first we want to deny what we have seen. When Bluebeard comes back Judith returns all the keys except the one for the little closet, which she tells him she’s left upstairs. Bluebeard is not deceived, he knows she has discovered his secret and disobeyed his orders – his orders to refrain from looking into the heart of darkness. When he sees the blood on the key Judith says she doesn’t know how it got there, but Bluebeard replies: ‘I very well know. You went into the closet, did you not? Very well, madam; you shall go back, and take your place among the ladies you saw there.’ Judith knows she must pay the price for her Faustian pact with the devil. She too must join his other victims. When her pleading and her feminine wiles have no effect on Bluebeard’s determination that she ‘must die’, she begs for a little time because she know her brothers should be arriving and may save her. They come just in the nick of time and run Bluebeard through with their swords. Perrault ends his tale:

Bluebeard had no heirs, and so his wife became mistress of all his estate. She made use of one part of it to marry her sister Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her a long while; another part to buy captains’ commissions for her brothers, and the rest to marry herself to a very worthy gentleman, who made her forget the ill time she had passed with Bluebeard.

Or in the usual phrase: they all lived happily ever after.

Judith dies in Bartok's Duke Bluebeards Castle

Béla Bartók’s rather misogynist opera ends more darkly. Rescue doesn’t come and despite Judith’s pleas for mercy Bluebeard kills her. Bluebeard: ‘Thou art lovely, passing lovely. Thou art the queen of all my women. My best and fairest. (‘Judith goes the way of the other women’) Henceforth all shall be darkness, darkness.’

So what are we to do once we have seen into the heart of darkness? Whether this is our own personal darkness or that of the society in which we live. In Joseph Conrad’s novel, Mr. Kurtz’s dying cry of ‘The Horror!’ was both a cry for what he had become and for the society that had made him so. Is there no hope of rescue because we have sinned, as in Bartok, or if we use all our wit and guiles can we delay the end until help arrives? Or should we like an existential philosopher despair and withdraw? The answers must be personal.

Perhaps for each of us the most important question is: ‘Who is Bluebeard?’, or even, ‘What is Bluebeard’. If we don’t see the enemy as the evil it is our fate will probably be sealed… unless we have some brothers to rescue us.

In a song called Beautiful Boy, John Lennon once told us: ‘Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.’ If you look back on your life so far can you see a certain truth in this? I can. My life has not been a nice linear progress, from great promise to great fulfilment, and I guess yours hasn’t either?

John Lennon

When we are young everything seems possible, all options seem open. We weigh the various possibilities we have and we make decisions. We even make plans. I’ll take this job because then after that I can move on to that. And ‘that’ will be great. But it doesn’t usually happen like that. Every single day of our lives we make decisions, we have to make decisions. Most of our decisions seem mundane; indeed they seem literally ‘everyday’. But they are not. Many years ago you might have been planning on a quiet night at home, but then a friend rings completely out of the blue and asks you to come with him/her to a concert or just for a drink. You had no intention or plan to do this, but after a bit of thought you think: ‘Why not?’ So off you go and just by ‘chance’ you met your future spouse, and because of that you are where you are now. If your friend hadn’t called you, or you had said you’d rather stay at home as you had planned, you wouldn’t be where you are today. So much for plans! Every moment of every day we make seemingly trivial or innocuous decisions and every one of them (or almost) will blow our well-laid plans out of the water. If you doubt this just ask yourself the question: ‘Is where I am now, where I live, who I’m married to, what I am doing, how wealthy I am… was that my plan twenty years ago?’

So life is mostly chance, as well as, as we get older, the sound of doors slamming shut behind us.

This much I think we all know. But what about the chance of us coming into existence at all? From a probability point of view, when we consider it, the chances that we came to be at all are so infinatestably small than they are almost zero. This doesn’t mean that we don’t exist. If you are reading this then you do. In fact the probability that you exist is one, or 100%. But the chance of you having ‘come in existence’ is a different thing.

You are a particular bundle of DNA. The first miracle is that if any one of you countless ancestors over the millennia had made slightly different decisions you wouldn’t exist. Just take the case of your parents. If they hadn’t by chance met at a particular time and place, you wouldn’t exist. And what led them to be in the same place at the same time? What was the probability of that? If they hadn’t liked each other then you wouldn’t exist. If they hadn’t got married (presuming they did) you wouldn’t exist. And so on. In fact your existence if not just dependent on all these things, it is also dependent on them deciding to have sex on a particular night – possibly your mother might have had a headache! But there are millions and millions of sperm in every act of sexual intercourse, and just one of those millions made you. If it had been another sperm then you wouldn’t be here. Somebody else might have been created but it wouldn’t be you!

And this is the case for every single one of your ancestors. I might return to the mathematics of this on another occasion. But for now it is I hope pretty obvious that the fact of you or I coming into existence at all is so tiny it is almost a miracle.

And what do we do with this miracle? As Shakespeare once put it in Macbeth:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Yes we strut and fret, and we busy ourselves with making ‘other’ plans.

This isn’t just a thing that we know now or even that Shakespeare first told us. People have known this since homo sapiens have been able to think. That is what homo sapiens means – thinking people.

Back in the eighth century the English monk ‘the venerable Bede’ told a story of the conversion to Christianity of the Anglo-Saxon King Edwin. The papal envoy Paulinus wanted to convert the pagan Edwin to Christianity. One of the King’s advisers told the King:

The Venerable Bede

Your Majesty, when we compare the present life of man on earth with that time of which we have no knowledge, it seems to me like the swift flight of a single sparrow through the banqueting-hall where you are sitting at dinner on a winter’s day with your thegns and counsellors. In the midst there is a comforting fire to warm the hall; outside, the storms of winter rain or snow are raging. This sparrow flies swiftly in through one door of the hall, and out through another. While he is inside, he is safe from the winter storms; but after a few moments of comfort, he vanishes from sight into the wintry world from which he came. Even so, man appears on earth for a little while; but of what went before this life or of what follows, we know nothing.

We are indeed like a sparrow passing through a warm and light hall. That is our life. We don’t know what came before and we sure as hell have no idea what will come when we are gone. But we enjoy the warmth of life when we are here. Unless, of course, we spend our time strutting and fretting and making lots of other plans.

We all do this.

This fleeting miracle of our life, this sparrow passing through the hall from darkness to darkness, first expressed by so wonderfully by Bede, has been reworked in English literature ever since. Wordsworth put it thus:

Man’s life is like a Sparrow, mighty King! 
That–while at banquet with your Chiefs you sit 
Housed near a blazing fire–is seen to flit 
Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering, 
Here did it enter; there, on hasty wing, 
Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold; 
But whence it came we know not, nor behold 
Whither it goes. Even such, that transient Thing, 
The human Soul; not utterly unknown 
While in the Body lodged, her warm abode; 
But from what world She came, what woe or weal 
On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown; 
This mystery if the Stranger can reveal, 
His be a welcome cordially bestowed! 

William Wordsworth

And in more recent times the Irish poet Seamus Heaney has offered his rendition of ‘The Sparrow’s Tale’:

It looked like a star, bent low,
Below the horizon by the wood’s edge. 
A wedge of light from a window high in a barn
At night it would glow and I would feel its pull, 
Pulling me away from the dark in which I lived, 
(A dark as dark as the deepest bowl in a beech tree trunk)
Pulling me away from the cold and the snow. 

I held that shining star in the corner of my beady black eye 
And one day took the plunge and flew head long through that gap 
Where the light shines, where the feasting humans herd. 
And then I was there, flying between beams like branches held up 
By bolt upright timbers like trunks reaching up 
To the twiggy rafters inside was lined inside 
Like the outside with gleaming threads of golden straw 

How my feathers shone! I couldn’t stop singing. But strange, 
Humans living in upturned nests. I gasped in surprise to see them
Flocking there and when they me espied their twittering ceased. 
Mouths hung open like hungry fledglings. The fire 
Pinned their crackling shadows high upon the lime-washed wall.
I took in the prickly air and the wide eyes that followed my excited flight, 
The satiated dogs that barely moved from the flickering hearth.

And then it all began, such squawking and clucking
And the clattering of steely-knives stabbing the table
Impaling all manner of meats lost in a cloud 
Full of feathers from startled chickens. One human barked
And leapt upon a perch on the fully laden table
Scattering crumbs, (such rich pickings!) I was tempted to rest
And to take some nourishment there but an arm swished

To snatch me from the pungent air mid-flight up turning 
A great plateful of precious water that splashed and showered the
One who gleamed with such an exotic plumage that the droplets
Sparkled like jewels in a crown of light. I held that moment 
Struck in awe. This was for surely a nest for the gods, I was able 
To reflect before returning from whence I came.
Brief is my life and a humble sparrow has no place at this table.

Seamus Heaney

That we exist at all is almost a miracle. That we strut and fret is just human. So let’s be like the sparrow and enjoy the warmth and light while we are here. Before our dusty death.

Many of us are interested in where our families come from as well as who our ancestors were. What and where are our ‘roots’? Some of you might even have researched your genealogy or family history. Yet have you ever seriously considered how many direct ancestors you really have? Obviously it’s a lot, but how many? You might have even heard statements to the effect that all Europeans are descendants of Charlemagne in the eighth century or that all people of English ancestry are descended from 86% of the people living in England at the time of William the Conqueror almost a thousand years ago. If you live in North America and have English or European ancestors the same questions apply. Indeed wherever you live and whatever your ethnic ancestry the questions of descent and ancestry are the same. This short article attempts, in a non-mathematical way, to answer or at least elucidate some of these issues.

Exponential growth – an explosion of ancestors?

On the surface the question of how many ancestors you have might seem simple to answer. After all you have two parents, four grandparents, eight great grandparents and sixteen great great grandparents do you not? The number of your ancestors doubles every generation. Surely you just need to do a simple mathematical calculation to work out the number of your direct ancestors who were living and breeding so many generations ago? The numbers surely just double in each generation: 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64 and so on. They would a form a pyramid – with you at the top of course!

After 10 generations you ‘should have had’ 1,024 ninth great grandparents. When was ten generations ago? Throughout this paper I will assume that you were born in 1947 (such a date has been used extensively in population studies) and that the average length of a generation is 30 years (this is an average inter-generational length not the age at which our ancestors had their first child – which is lower). So ten generations prior to 1947 takes us back to the mid seventeenth century – to around the time of the English Civil War and to the early days of British settlement in North America.

You might also be interested in working out how many direct ancestors you might have had in total between a certain date in the past and now. You can just add up the numbers for each generation. For instance from the time of your great great grandparents you could have had 30 direct ancestors in total: 2+4+8+16=30. Going back ten generations the total is 2,046 direct ancestors.

If you have ever had an interest in family history and genealogy you will very likely have quickly discovered how the number of your own direct ancestors does seem to explode the further back you look. You might even, as I did, have had to buy a software package to keep track! So 1,024 direct ancestors going back ten generations might not seem too many.

Given the available records, being able to trace our family back ten generations, down every line, would for most of us be a notable achievement. But let’s extend our calculation yet further back – to twenty and thirty generations – a mere blip in our genealogical and genetic history. Twenty generations ago, in the mid-fourteenth century at around the time of the Black Death in Europe and about 150 years before Columbus ‘discovered’ America, a simple doubling of the number of your direct ancestors in each generation would imply that you had 1,048,576 nineteenth great grandparents at the time. In Britain at that time the total population was probably no more than three million – and that even before the Black Death reduced the population by a third or more. This suggests that if your ancestor numbers always doubled in each generation by the mid-fourteenth century they would account for one third of the total British population. A lot but not inconceivable.

But the number of people alive at any one time didn’t just consist of one generation. Depending on your own age you are likely to have parents and grandparents who are still alive and/or children and grandchildren of your own. So in any individual’s ancestry the number of his or her direct ancestors, in any generation, alive at a particular time is only a fraction of the total number of direct ancestors alive at that time. The precise fraction will vary from location to location and through time. It will also vary somewhat between different individuals’ ancestry. Overall for Britain over the last thousand years it has been estimated that the fraction of the total population comprising ‘one’ generation has been, in percentage terms, somewhere around 40%. Putting this another way, this means that on average in any individual’s ancestry there are about 2.5 ‘generations’ alive at any one time. I will use this assumption. But you should be aware that within reason the analysis that will follow would still be valid if we were to use even quite different assumptions. Looking back 20 generations to the mid-fourteenth century, if the maximum population of Britain at that time was, as mentioned, about three million, this means that there were only roughly 40% of this number, i.e. about 1.2 million people who could in fact have been your direct ancestors – compared to the 1,048,576 we theoretically need – still credible but only just.

So let’s see what the doubling of our ancestors leads to after 30 generations, i.e. going back to around the time of the Norman Conquest in 1066. After thirty generations we would seem to have needed 1.1 billion direct and distinct ancestors! Yes more than one thousand million direct ancestors at the time of William the Conqueror! Obviously this is impossible as the total world population in the eleventh century has been estimated to have been only about 250 to 300 million.

So the number of our ancestors can’t really have kept on doubling in an exponential manner as we go further and further back. Consider just one additional fact: it has been shown that the human race, homo sapiens, went through at least one population bottleneck during our history. At certain times it appears that humankind almost went extinct. Around 70,000 years ago scientists have suggested that the total world population dwindled to only a few thousand – the so-called Toba catastrophe. So sooner or later the number of your ancestors must have stopped exploding and had to have started to shrink, and shrink fast.

Such a phenomenon is called ‘Pedigree Collapse’, a phrase coined by Robert C. Gunderson. The mathematics of this are quite complex; I will attempt to explain what it all means without using maths. Essentially there are two interrelated reasons why the number of your direct ancestors does not keep on exploding and why their number will sooner or later start to contract. The first has to do with ‘cousin marriage’. When you look back at your ancestry you will find that again and again your ancestors married, or better said, bred with their ‘cousins’. This is not a conjecture, this is a fact. Although there will be much to say on the level of cousin marriage. Second, we need to understand the nature of the available ‘breeding pool’ that our ancestors had; and this means considering issues of migration.

The first factor, cousin marriage or inbreeding if you like, can help us explain why the number of your ancestors first grows and then will eventually shrink. The second factor, migration or ‘outbreeding’, helps us to understand why the onset of this narrowing and shrinkage is sometimes pushed farther back in time.

Inbreeding with your cousins

Nowadays we rarely marry or breed with a close relation. In some societies it is either illegal or societally unacceptable. In England since the time of Henry VIII there has been no law restricting who you can marry (remember he wanted to marry Catherine Howard and thus abolished religious consanguinity restrictions so that he could), but this is not the same everywhere in the world. In England today cousin marriage is very rare indeed, yet as we will see this was decidedly not the case in the past. In fact not only was ‘some form’ of cousin marriage likely, it had to have been extremely prevalent. Without it we couldn’t even attempt to make sense of the development of human numbers over the centuries and millennia.

The first effect of cousin marriage is to reduce the rate of growth of the actual number of our ancestors, as compared to the theoretical maximum.

Before we look at a simple example let me explain a little of the genealogical nomenclature involved. When you think of your cousin you are usually thinking of your so-called ‘first cousin’. This means that you and your cousin are related because one of your parents and one of your cousin’s parents are or were siblings. And that means that you share one common pair of grandparents. A second cousin just pushes the relationship back another generation. You and your second cousin share a common pair of great grandparents.  And so on through third, fourth and fifth cousins. In terms of relationships, we can even quite easily take into account such relationships as a ‘third cousin once removed’ or even various types of ‘half cousins’ or even, God forbid, intergenerational marriages with nieces and grandnieces etc. Mathematically and genealogically these relations can be expressed as the equivalent of first, second or more cousins. For example a third cousin once removed is mathematically equivalent to a fourth cousin.

So what happens to the number of your ancestors when cousins marry or breed? Let me build this up one step at a time. The first steps will no doubt be obvious, subsequent steps perhaps less so.

In the unlikely event that your own parents were first cousins we know this means that they shared a common pair of grandparents – this in turn means some of your ancestors are ‘duplicates’. Think about your own family for a minute.  Rather than your parents having the maximum of 8 grandparents they would in fact have had only 6! This is a 25% reduction in their grandparental ancestry – i.e. 6 is 25% lower than the maximum of 8. Now even if that were the only case of cousin marriage in your entire ancestry it would start to reduce the number of your distinct or non-duplicated ancestors. Starting from your great grandparents (‘Generation 3’ in the terminology I am using) your ancestors would double in every generation back from there. This means for you that you would have 6 great grandparents, 12 great great grandparents and so on. You can quickly see that the number of your ancestors decreases by 25% in each and every generation back from there. Note that for you this reduction, stemming from one unique first cousin marriage of your parents, only starts with the generation of your great grandparents. You still would have two distinct parents and four distinct grandparents but only 6 great grandparents.

On the other hand, if your parents were only second cousins the reduction in the rate of increase in the number of your ancestors would start one generation earlier and would be less severe. They would have a common pair of great grandparents. This means that you would have two parents, four grandparents and eight great grandparents, but only 14 rather than 16 great great grandparents. This is only a one eighth or 12.5% reduction. Such a one eighth reduction would then continue throughout your own ancestor line. Are you still with me?

But still the relentless doubling of the number of your ancestors would proceed apace, even if the start of the doubling is pushed back a generation or two. If your parents were first cousins then you would still theoretically have about 802 million distinct direct ancestors 30 generations ago, or 936 million if they were second cousins. Still far too many for it to be true. So I guess it’s pretty clear that the occasional marriage of cousins can’t explain the problem of ‘missing ancestors’.

Let’s take the next step and, perhaps rather extremely, assume that every single one of your ancestors married a second cousin. This seems extreme because historically the level of second cousin marriage was nowhere near as high. What would such 100% second cousin marriage mean for the number of your ancestors? Could this explain our conundrum of having too few ancestors? It turns out that it can’t. Remember than if your parents were second cousins this would lower the number of your distinct ancestors by one eighth in each generation – so you would have 14 great great grandparents rather than 16 and so on. Now if all your grandparents were also second cousins then rather than you having 28 great great great grandparents (i.e. 14 great great grandparents x 2) you would have only 24, that is one eighth lower than 28. Each generation reduces the number of your ancestors by one eighth and these reductions cumulate as we go back. Once we look back thirty generations to around the time of the Norman Conquest, although 100% second cousin marriage reduces the actual number of your direct ancestors by a staggering 96% from the theoretical maximum of over about 1.1 billion, it would still mean that you should have had about 4,356,616 distinct direct ancestors (from one generation) alive at the time! Still well more than the estimated total British population – even without taking account of the fraction of the population accounted for by one generation and the percentage of people alive at the time who had no descendants or whose descendant line died out.

To recap so far: I have tried to demonstrate without using any complicated mathematics that the number of your direct ancestors does not double every generation. This is because they tended to marry, or at least breed with, their own relatives. Visualize if you can your own ancestor pyramid. One or a few marriages of cousins (of whatever degree) will have the effect, from a particular point on, of narrowing the pyramid of the number of your ancestors. It will not however stop the inextricable increase in their number. The pyramid starts to become narrower, more pointed, but it’s still a pyramid. Not only that, even though the growth in the number of your ancestors can slow down very fast, for example if all your ancestors married second cousins, it still wouldn’t go into reverse.

So no matter how much individual cousin marriage there was in your ancestry this doesn’t on its own seem to be able to explain why, when you go back far enough, you always seem to need more ancestors than there were people in the country, on the planet or even more than the number of people who have ever lived! Yet we know that sooner or later the number of your ancestors needs to start to stop increasingly, even at a slower pace, and needs to go into reverse and start (quickly) declining. At some point in history the number of your ancestors absolutely must contract.

The reason why the pyramid becomes a diamond is that when your ancestors married or bred with a cousin (of whatever degree) they also very often had more than one cousin relationship with their spouse – sometimes many more.

Let’s use a very simple hypothetical example to elucidate this. Imagine again that your parents were first cousins, so they share a common pair of grandparents. But they could also be second cousins as well, in which case they would also share a common pair of great grandparents. As we have seen, the first cousin relationship would reduce the number of your ancestors in Generation 3 from 8 to 6 and in Generation 4 from 16 to 12. The addition of the second cousin relationship between them would reduce the number in Generation 4 further – from 12 to 10. As we go back in time such multiple relationships between spouses proliferate. Spouses might be second cousins twice over and third cousins and fourth cousins three times over for example. Such multiple relationships have an additive effect on the reduction in the number of your ancestors. The further we go back into your history the more likely you will find that this has been the case – in fact it is absolutely inevitable. At least intuitively for now I hope you can see that with enough multiple relationships, with if you like enough inbreeding, the cumulative effect of removing duplicate ancestors will at some point eventually outweigh the doubling-effect and the number of your discreet ancestors will start to shrink. The pyramid will at some point become a diamond.

Again without using mathematics, one way to illustrate the effect of such inbreeding on the number of your ancestors is to stop thinking about going back in time and consider a hypothetical example moving forward.

Imagine a Mr. and Mrs. Robinson Crusoe abandoned on a remote desert island many centuries ago. (You could name them Adam and Eve if you want). This might seem a very unlikely example, but history and genetics is riddled with such so-called ‘founder events’. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe enjoyed their new environment and happily produced several healthy children. Let’s imagine they produce four children who live to sexual maturity, two girls and two boys. Of course, unless these children want to mate with one of their parents (which is not out of the question) they will need to pair up with each other – possibly (though not necessarily) monogamously – one boy with one girl. All these children’s children will now be first cousins. They will share the same grandparents. Subsequent generations will all be second, third and fourth cousins and so on.  Not only that but as time passes they (the breeding couples) will all be related to each other in multiple ways. Ignoring for the moment the fact that such an inbred family would after some generations quickly start to show genetic degeneration, similar to various Royal families, Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe could have thousands upon thousands of descendants – indeed theoretically they could have millions of descendants after 30 generations. Take any one of these descendants and you would find that his or her ancestry would, by mathematical logic, have at first expanded and then contracted to only two – Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe themselves. This is an unavoidable fact and is, as we have seen, due to the cumulative effects of inbreeding. I think that you might also notice from this illustrative example that the expansion and subsequent contraction in ancestor numbers can even happen more than once. All Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe’s thousands if not millions of descendants would be able to prove that the number of their direct ancestors first increased and then fell to just two. But as the ‘founder’ couple themselves had many ancestors of their own (unless you literally believe in Adam and Eve) then the numbers would start growing again; before reversing yet again as the effects of multiple inbreeding kicked in again, and so on. But that would take us further back in time than I can consider in this short essay.

In the real history of Britain there were certainly many founder effects similar to the Robinson Crusoe example, but most of them happened thousands of years ago in the period after the end of the last Ice Age when Britain started to be repopulated from a number of Ice Age refuges. Once a decent size British population was again established such genealogical (as opposed to older genetic) founder effects were rare.

Given the many gaps in the available genealogical records, and the fact that in Britain systematic records of births, marriages and deaths only started in the sixteen century and only achieved a reasonably full coverage a century or so later, it would be extremely hard, and in most cases impossible, to demonstrate for your ancestors or mine when exactly your ancestor ‘pyramid’ reversed to become a ‘diamond’. As I suggested earlier, accurately tracing your ancestry back to the middle of the seventeenth century (i.e. 10 generations from 1947) following only some of your lines is itself a major achievement. Doing it with any certainly along all your lines is for most of us impossible. To the extent that you have managed to do so you will have undoubtedly found that some families keep marrying each other. But can you precisely identify all the cousin relationships? More importantly, can you always spot when some of your ancestors in a particular generation were the same people? To the extent that you can then you could also probably show how the rate of increase in the number of your direct ancestors had already started to slow down somewhat over the last three hundred years, but it is very unlikely that you could demonstrate an actual shrinkage in ancestor numbers over such a period – although it is theoretically conceivable that there was one. The major problem is that 10 generations isn’t very long in genealogical terms and it’s only a blink of the eye in genetic terms.

Over a longer generational time-span we can illustrate how inbreeding will lead to pedigree collapse by considering the case of breeders of pedigree horses and dogs. Because both horses and dogs both live much shorter lives than humans and start to breed at a much earlier age, breeders of ‘pedigree’ animals often have detailed ‘stud books’ recording parentage – sometimes going back thirty generations or more. They are therefore often able to definitively and graphically demonstrate how pedigree collapse has played out. Not only how ancestor numbers first expanded and then contracted but also how this can happen more than once. Such studies demonstrate unequivocally that inbreeding on its own, if severe enough, can and will lead to pedigree collapse.

The main problem with applying this analogy to humans is that animal breeders are usually consciously trying to breed pedigree animals; they are artificially and deliberately restricting the opportunities for dogs or horses to breed outside a very restricted group. Just as in a similar way how the inhabitants of our hypothetical Robinson Island have also been restricted in their breeding – by geographic separation.

Migration and outbreeding

How could this narrowing of the ancestral base have been attenuated? To put it another way, how could the available ancestor pool have been increased between the present day person and Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe, so that their descendant alive today has more than just two ancestors thirty generations back? Here we have to address the issue of the available ‘breeding pool’ at different points in the past – and how migration leads to outbreeding.

Perhaps some time over the past few hundred years another man or woman arrived by canoe on Robinson Island and bred with one or more of the people there. Or perhaps a Viking came and raped someone. The immediate effect would have been to expand the number of actual ancestors represented in the Robinson Island population. Every time this happened the number of ancestors for the descendants of Mr. and Mrs. Crusoe would have increased significantly. If an immigrant came from Africa or a Viking from Scandinavia he or she would inject the genealogical inheritance of countless people in Africa or Scandinavia. Every such immigrant or migrant adds considerably to the pool of collective ancestor diversity and the numbers of possible ancestors of future generations.

Every time that one of my or your ancestors moved, into or out of one of their ‘ancestral’ areas, whether a few miles or hundreds or thousands of miles, they brought or took with them an untold number of ancestors of their own. These ancestors have become your own. If people hadn’t moved at all we would all be able to trace our descendants to one ‘Adam and Eve’ founder couple in the not too distant past, just like in our Robinson Crusoe example.

In the British or English examples I used earlier I was implicitly assuming that the total available pool of a British person’s ancestors was limited, throughout the generations and within a particular generation, to all the people alive in Britain. Of course this is not necessarily true. It might be that the available breeding pool of your family was less than this or more than this. For any individual’s ancestry this will depend on how often and how far your ancestors tended to move from their ancestral homes. If for many centuries your ancestors really were somehow hermetically sealed within a closed community (a walled village or district similar to Robinson Island) then the narrowing of your ancestor pyramid could have been quite fast and it might be that their numbers started to shrink sometime in the last few hundred years. In reality, however, such a degree of cousin marriage, and therefore resultant inbreeding, was probably quite rare. 

I’ll try to illustrate this by referring to my own ancestry. I am English. In fact I am so English it is somewhat embarrassing. For at least 400 years that I know of, my ancestors almost all originate from very specific locales in the English counties of Shropshire, Lancashire, Cumbria and Norfolk. During all this time I had no known ancestor who came from outside the British Isles – and just a few from Wales plus a couple from Scotland and Ireland. The great majority of my ancestors were born and were raised in a very limited number of specific areas – a village or a few villages. For hundreds of years most of them married others from within only a few miles radius. Generally of course couples married in the parish of the woman; but they tended to live thereafter in the husband’s home. But move they did. They had access to a breeding pool much larger than that available to the descendants of Mr. and Mrs. Robinson Crusoe. In fact from time to time they moved further away. Why else would my own family (and probably yours too) originate from several places? In the 19th century my ancestors moved from Norfolk, Shropshire and Cumbria to Lancashire, to join other ancestors already settled there since at least the 17th century.

If I were able to go back another ten or twenty generations and identify all the connections, it’s pretty clear that because people moved I would find some of my ancestors from nearly everywhere in Britain (or at least England) and probably quite a lot from abroad as well. Although there is a lot more to be said on the issue of migration, I think for now it is true to say that even for an English person such as myself, having recent ancestors from only a few specific and limited locales, over say a thousand years my ancestral’ breeding pool’ did probably encompass the whole of the country and possibly some of Europe as well.

When did the reversal in ancestor numbers happen?

There is a general rule involved here, based on the mathematics of genealogy and demographics:

When and how the number of your direct ancestors stops growing and starts to shrink is determined by the  interplay of the cumulative negative effects of inbreeding and the positive effects of expanding the ‘breeding pool’ – via migration or so-called outbreeding.

How do these two opposing forces play out in reality? More particularly at what point in history did this inevitable reversal in the number of ancestors happen – in your family and in general?

Over a period of about ten generations in my family tree I can certainly notice that I had some ‘duplicate’ ancestors because of cousin marriage, and there are surely many more I haven’t spotted. Yet I think it is clear that over this ten generation time period the degree of inbreeding in my family was is no way large enough to have had a very significant effect on the dramatic increase in my direct ancestor numbers, and it certainly wasn’t enough to reverse the process. 

But let’s look at the numbers again. Depending on our assumptions regarding generational length, historic population numbers, the percentage of a population accounted for by one generation and the percentage of people who have left no descendants, then at some point in Britain or England, probably in the High Middle Ages as we shall see, the cumulative effects of inbreeding must have become large enough to reverse the tendency for anyone’s ancestors to double in each generation. As I demonstrated earlier, this can be seen by the simple fact that at about this time the maximum number of an English or British person’s direct ancestors would exceed the possible pool of their ancestors in the country.

At this point I would like to highlight one of the seminal articles on this subject, called Ancestors at the Norman Conquest, published in 1980 by Kenneth W Wachter, a Berkeley statistician and demographer. Wachter assumed that ‘England’ was a closed society, with basically no international immigration. He uses the example of a hypothetical, strictly English, person born in 1947 (let’s please not open a debate on what ‘English’ means) and assumes an intergenerational length of thirty years. He then makes some assumptions about the average degree of cousin marriage based on an analysis of his own family tree – such cousin marriage being in fact quite rare. He then uses these assumptions in a mathematical model which calculates a probability distribution for the actual numbers of distinct (or unique if you like) ancestors in each generation. Such distributions obviously have an average or ‘mean’ value. He could then compare this average number with both the theoretical maximum number of any individual’s ancestors (i.e. the simple doubling in each generation) and the estimated total population in England at different points in time. The results are illuminating to say the least.

For example, even 15 generations ago in 1527 the mean calculated number of distinct ancestors is still 31,438, not much less than the theoretical maximum of 32,768, and only about 1.5% of Wachter’s estimated English population of 2.2 million at the time. To put this in another way, fully 96% of this person’s ancestors in the 15th generation are distinct people and only 4% are duplicates or ‘non-distinct’. This seems to accord quite well with my earlier observations regarding my own ancestry. But then something peculiar starts to happen.

Going back only five more generations (to Generation 20), or to about the year 1377, the number of distinct ancestors has grown enormously, to 628,576, but this is now ‘only’ 60% of the theoretical maximum of 1,048,576 – meaning that 40% of the theoretically available ancestor ‘slots’ are now duplicates or better said non-distinct. Also if the English population at the time was about 2.25 million as Wachter assumes (remember the Black Death decimated the English population starting at about this time) then this individual’s ancestors in 1377 (and only in one generation) now account for fully 28% of the total population alive at the time.

25 generations ago, in about 1227, this individual would seem to have 2,012,114 distinct ancestors; or 80% of the estimated English population of 2.5 million. Not only that but only about one sixteenth of his/her ancestors are distinct people, this rest are at least duplicates.

Going back 30 generations to around 1077, to just after the Norman Conquest, we saw earlier that the maximum number of ancestors in that one generation was just over one billion (i.e. 1,000 million). Wachter’s model calculates that this individual would have 952,279 distinct ancestors in 1077 – only around 0.09% of the maximum but representing fully 86% of the total estimated English population of 1.1 million. This is ultimately the basis for the assertion highlighted at the beginning of this essay that everyone with English ancestry today is descended from 86% of people alive in the country at the time of William the Conqueror.

In terms of the theme of ‘Pedigree Collapse’, the important point to notice is that between 1227 (i.e. generation 25) and 1077 (generation 30) the number of distinct ancestors more than halved, from just over two million to just under one million – and that means precisely and unequivocally that the ‘pyramid’ became a ‘diamond’! In his model the reversal point takes place somewhere around 1200. So even with an extremely modest level of historical cousin marriage this model clearly shows that such marriages of relatives will first narrow the pyramid and then put it into reverse – i.e. it clearly demonstrates the phenomenon of Pedigree Collapse.

You might ask, as I did, how can this be so? I showed earlier that even if every single one of your direct ancestors married a second cousin this couldn’t explain the seeming lack of ancestors. By 1077, under this scheme of 100% second cousin marriage, you should still have had around 4.3 million ancestors, way more than the population at the time. So how is it that with only very limited assumed cousin marriage Wachter’s model reduces the number of distinct ancestors to just under one million over the same period? The answer is logically (and mathematically) the result of the cumulative effects over many generations of the effects of multiple cousin relationships between couples. After a few hundred years these cumulative effects really start to bite – the remorseless effect of knocking out potential ancestor ‘slots’ does actually outweigh the generational doubling. The problem with the hypothetical 100% cousin marriage example wasn’t that the assumption was unrealistic (which it was) but rather that each marriage was independent and had only one effect on the number of ancestors, whereas in fact it would likely have had many.

Just as an aside, according to anthropologist Professor Robin Fox of Rutgers University, in his 2011 book The Tribal Imagination: Civilization and the Savage Mind, it is in fact likely that 80% of all marriages in all of history have been between second cousins or closer. In the context of our present discussion, and for now, I take this to mean not that during the time period we have been considering (and this is important) more than 80% of couples really were second cousins or closer (which they weren’t) but that the cumulative cousin relationship effect was equivalent to this.

In a very interesting and informative series of popular articles, based partly on Kenneth Wachter’s analysis, Brain Pears, a genealogist and physicist, argued that in general ‘the number of ancestors in any generation will be little different from that obtained by our simple doubling scheme’, (mitigated only slightly by a relatively modest level of cousin marriage) back to a point, around 1300 in his analysis, at which you are descended from almost everyone alive in the country at that time. He argued that further back from there the number of your ancestors would then have followed the (declining) total population (to be strict the total population per generation). Given the evidence for the limited degree of cousin marriage in Britain or England over the course of the last few hundred years, and even allowing for the fact that it no doubt was more prevalent further back in history, this would seem a reasonable conclusion.

However, a point worth highlighting is that this ‘reversal point’, in about 1200 in Wachter’s model, can only have happened because of inbreeding, there in no other mechanism – notwithstanding periodic bouts of the Plague. Pears states: ‘I accept that every couple will be related distantly many times over but not to anything like the extent necessary to limit the number or distribution of our ancestors significantly – it would only affect the timing. As we go back through the generations the number and distribution of ancestors will always increase until they cannot increase further. That limitation occurs when the ancestry encompasses the whole population. In earlier generations we would expect the number of ancestors to follow the population size.’ But again remember that the reversal of the pyramid to a diamond can only happen due to inbreeding, indeed being ‘limited by population size’ and ‘inbreeding’ amount to exactly the same thing. In fact assuming only limited cousin marriage (as we all do) but not accepting the cumulative effects of multiple relationships would leave us, I suggest, in a tricky position. If our ancestors really did keep on ‘nearly’ doubling until a ‘population limit’ was reached, then when that limit is reached what then? Wouldn’t we need a sudden and massive change in the pattern of inbreeding from very little to enormous to put the trend in the number of our ancestors into reverse? I don’t find this credible. In fact Wachter’s model clearly showed that before the point of reversal our ancestor pyramid had already narrowed enormously. For example, by the year 1227 the width of the bottom of the pyramid after 25 generations (when the number of distinct ancestors reaches a peak) is only one sixteenth as wide as if would be if doubling or near doubling had occurred!

Conclusions and what about our descent from Charlemagne and so on?

So how many direct ancestors do you have?

The answer is I am afraid that you will never be able to calculate a precise number. On the one hand the number might be more than you imagined, as the seemingly relentless doubling goes on. Yet on the other hand we have seen that sooner or later your ancestor numbers will start to decline. It might be, though it is extremely unlikely in the time frames we have been considering, that your ancestry goes back to only one locale at a certain point in history or even to one ‘founder’ couple.

At the beginning of this article I highlighted just two of the many bold assertions that have been made about our ancestry: such as that everyone in Europe is probably descended from Charlemagne and that every person in England can trace their ancestry to 86% of the people alive in the country at the time of William the Conqueror. Are such claims really true? For 100% of the people presently living in either Europe or England today they are obviously not. For example many English or Europeans are very recent, or even first generation, immigrants – from Asia or Africa and elsewhere. Even though everybody’s lineage will have significantly reduced at some point in the not so distant past because of inbreeding, it is not mathematically self-evident that every English person will be descended from 86% of people in England at the time of William the Conqueror nor that not every European is descended from Charlemagne. Even if we ‘exclude’ such recent immigrants from our analysis and only consider ‘indigenous’ English or Europeans (whatever that might mean) such descent is still not completely certain in every single case, though it has to be said that it is highly probable. Such statements are about probabilities and averages not certainties!

Let’s finish by returning to the question of migration and our supposed common descent from Charlemagne. England, Britain or any other country are obviously not, nor ever were, ‘closed’ or hermetically sealed countries such as the hypothetical Robinson Island. People always moved ‘internationally’ – although the concept of ‘international’ becomes anachronistic as we go further back. At any point to the extent that international migration took place it would have had the effect for any individual we are concerned with today of increasing his or her pool of ancestors. As the whole science of ‘Small World’ networks shows us it only takes a few ‘long leaps’ to connect us in fact with the rest of the world – hence the term ‘Six Degrees of Separation’. So without being able to explore this issue further here (maybe another time) because breeding across borders (i.e. migration) happened over the 1,200 years separating us from Charlemagne it is quite conceivable that the bulk of people in Europe might be able to ‘claim’ ancestry from him.

So overall and ‘on average’ it has to be maintained that both these statements are probably true! We are all much more related than we might think.

But let’s look at things another way. If you or I are indeed descended directly from Charlemagne then we are also inevitably descended from his gardener and cook as well. Maybe one of our zigzagging lines will take us back to Charlemagne, but 99.99% or more of our ancestry lines will show that we descend from countless numbers of simple, poor and exploited people – living in Europe around the year 800. People who ploughed the fields, built the ships, served in the armies or simply looked after their families. Whether we want to highlight the one or the many of our ancestors is a personal decision. For me what I find inspiring and humbling is that the vast majority of my ancestors were just simple people trying to make a living as best they could and trying to care for their families – often in the face of severe economic, social and political exploitation and repression. That they managed somehow to do so well enough so that I came into the world is, I would suggest, a testament to the greatness of human perseverance and the human spirit.

Sources

Kenneth W. Wachter, Ancestors of the Norman Conquest, in Genealogical Demography, ed. B. Dyke and W.T Morrill, Academic Press 1980; Brian Pears, Our ancestors, conceptions, misconceptions and a paradox, The ancestor paradox revisited and The ancestor paradox yet again,(available on internet); Douglas L. T. Rohde, On the Common Ancestors of All Living Humans, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, November 2003; Robin Fox, The Tribal Imagination: Civilization and the Savage Mind, Harvard 2011.